


Metamorpha

by JadedTimberwolf



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Detailed description of canon-typical injuries, Eventual gaslighting/manipulation, Eventual non-consensual body modification, Genji’s No Good Very Bad Day, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:08:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27365554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JadedTimberwolf/pseuds/JadedTimberwolf
Summary: After suffering terrible, life-threatening injuries on a mission in Oasis, Genji is separated from the rest of Overwatch, his cybernetics requiring total repairs. A hospitable stranger finds him and takes Genji in, offering repairs and saving his life.Back with Overwatch, Genji is MIA and lost somewhere within Oasis’ dark underbelly. After days without contact, Zenyatta goes to find him, hoping to find his pupil before it is too late.(Inspired by an AU/conversation with Unchained_Silver, loosely inspired by the Teen Titans episode The Sum of His Parts)
Relationships: Genji Shimada/Tekhartha Zenyatta, Genyatta
Comments: 3
Kudos: 26





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Me?? Writing Overwatch fic in 2020?? It’s more likely than you think.
> 
> I’m not sure where exactly it came from, but I suddenly found myself streamrolling right back into Genyatta Hell. I decided to ride the motivation and finally write out this idea Unchained_Silver and I bounced back and forth back in 2017. More parts to come soon. I hope you all enjoy!

Idiot. He had been a goddamn idiot.

Fighting Doomfist on the top of a transport hover vehicle as it sped throughout Oasis was easy enough for a man of Genji’s experience. Balance and momentum were things that required very little effort on his part, his enhanced agility allowing him to perform maneuvers that even his many years of training with the Shimadas could not accommodate. No, fighting Doomfist on the top of a hover vehicle as it sped throughout Oasis _while forty stories up in the floating hyperlanes_ was what had ultimately proved to be his downfall. And quite literally, at that.

One misstep, and one subsequent impact from Doomfist’s gauntlet had sent him flying off the top of Talon’s transport truck at great speed. While his built-in armor plating could feasibly withstand such a stumble in normal circumstances, the fact was that he continued to fall for at least another 500 feet, his descent regularly interrupted by further collisions with _more_ high-speed vehicles in the lower hyperlanes. With absolutely no time for the drivers to react (if the vehicles were not already in autopilot to begin with), each impact felt harder and more painful than the one before, tossing him around like a ragdoll as he very ungracefully tumbled his way down. The final collision with the cold earth at the city baseline had him land on his side. He had felt the delicate, hand-crafted parts of his prosthetic arm absolutely shatter against the unmoving concrete, his right arm now numb and pinned uselessly underneath him. 

If Genji were still fully human, such a fall would have killed him at least eight times over. Hell, even with all of his cybernetics, it was a miracle he had survived long enough to even feel himself hit the ground. The world around the cyborg spun, his head still reeling and his vision rolling round and round in circles like he was still falling. His emergency life support fail-safe had kicked in by then, pumping what was left of his organic cardiovascular system full of steroids and adrenaline to keep his artificial heart pumping. With this assistance, Genji’s breaths started to come easier than before, though the sharp sting of pain with each inhale still wracked his chest. Broken ribs for sure, even with his reinforced skeleton. 

It had been going so well, too. All it had been was a simple mission to intercept a piece of cargo that was being shipped to O’Deorain’s private laboratory, stopping whatever foul project Talon had recently been plotting. They had expected armed goons and Moira herself, not Akande being there to lead the operation personally. They must have known Overwatch would be there.

Idiot. He should not have rushed ahead alone. Pharah could have been there to catch him. He should have just let Talon escape with the damn payload.

After gathering together what little mental coherence he could muster, Genji attempted to move. The pain was immeasurable, and the majority of his limbs were offlined and numb to him. But he struggled nonetheless, desperate to move something, even just a twitch of his finger. After some time he managed to flex his remaining organic hand into a fist, but a searing pain rippled through the muscles of his upper arm, and he was forced to release it. 

He could not move, he could barely breathe, and it was only a matter of time before the adrenaline booster would wear off and his organic systems would go into shock. While Overwatch struggled somewhere above amongst the blur of the hyperlanes, traffic was fast and Talon was still at large. His communicator crackled with static in his ear, broken and crushed to pieces, just like he was. He had no idea if help would arrive in time without the rest of his team being able to track his location. The cynical side of him, the side from his Blackwatch days that he had failed to fully let go, wondered if impromptu medical attention in the field would even be enough to help him in his current condition. As brilliant as she was, there was no way Angela could repair his limbs without her laboratory. 

He was helpless. In his delirium Genji flashed back to the open floor of the Shimada temple, how blood spilled out from the deep gash in his gut as he stared uselessly up towards the ceiling. In the present he lay there dazed, blood and oil mingling from where they trickled out from his back, remembering the fear he had felt on that unfortunate night, a fear of his mortality, a fear for his life. And now here he was again: Genji Shimada, broken and bruised, struck down and ruined by a fragment of his own hubris a second time. 

The hand curled into a fist again. No. He was _not_ helpless. He would not allow himself to die in such a manner. There was still time.

Through the deep green crack across his visor, Genji tilted his head back and forth as much as he could, gathering what he could of his surroundings from his limited angle. Unfortunately for him, he had appeared to land in some sort of slummed-up alleyway, brick walls of old buildings towering around him on either side. No human nor omnic assistance in sight. With a great effort, Genji forced his heavy, useless body to roll fully onto his stomach, an agonizing scream muffled into nothing more to a few loud grunts as he fought through the pain. Negative electrical feedback zipped up his spine, his shattered prosthesis unable to follow through with his brain’s issued commands, but he had to make it. He had to get help.

With his one functioning hand, Genji began to slowly, agonizingly pull himself forward. His shoulder burned from the sheer leverage required to haul his full body weight up and around with a single arm, but by now the adrenaline from his life support booster was pumping fully through him now, negating some of his previous pains as he willed himself onward. 

All he had to do was reach the street. There, someone was bound to see him, and even if they could not help him themselves, they could alert a local hospital for assistance. It was a slim chance, but it was all he had at this moment. 

Minutes felt like hours as he inched along, the street growing ever closer, his broken body begging him for a chance to rest and repair. After a while, his eyelids began to grow heavy; he was unsure if he had suffered a serious concussion or not, but he knew passing out in such a state would be certain death regardless. He had to stay awake. Just a few more meters and hopefully help would find him. 

Just then another jolt of insurmountable agony swept over him, consuming him whole and causing his thoughts to stutter out into white-hot static for a few, seething moments. This time he could not stop the scream escaping from his throat. Something in his spine, whether natural or augmentation, had displaced itself from the strain of crawling forward without the help of his legs, and Genji dropped flat against the concrete, all of his strength leaving him in an instant. 

Damn it. Tears welled in his eyes as the cyborg screamed numerous Japanese obscenities into the cold earth underneath him. Damn it damn it damn it. _He was so close._

He lay there in a pathetic heap. His drifting thoughts eventually wandered to the faces of his teammates, how shocked they must have looked when they saw him go floundering over the edge of the transport and into the fray of traffic below. Angela. Fareeha. Winston. Orisa. How they must worry for him, and how they’ll loathe to stumble upon his lifeless body long after the pursuit of Talon had ended.

But what pained Genji most of all was thoughts of Zenyatta. How his master had tried to support his pursuit of Doomfist by sending along with him an orb of harmony. But the truck proved too fast, and the orb was forced to return to its master — his master — long before it would have proved useful. How Zenyatta must have seen his star pupil tumble so cruelly into the lower rungs of the city from a great distance away alongside the rest of the team, helpless to intervene. 

Genji wished Zenyatta were here with him now. He was long past saving, his wounds too great and the adrenaline beginning to fade. Regardless of whether the monk could heal or not, he wished for his teacher to be here in his final moments. Zenyatta was the only person he knew who could make light of death while still respecting its finality. Zenyatta, the person who had taught Genji to no longer fear his mortality, that true self could exist without physical form. How Genji longed for his master’s hand to gently stroke through his hair as he drifted off into whatever fate awaited him in the darkness. How he longed for a chance to say a proper goodbye.

“Oh, you poor thing. What happened here?”

The voice that came from above him sounded familiar to the fringes of his fading consciousness. Genji was barely awake now, the dark colors of the alleyway beginning to blur and swirl together as his vision started to escape him. A thoughtful hum followed not long after, low and warm in an artificial synth. Genji must be hallucinating, his last wish made manifest.

Genji’s eyelids fluttered, struggling to keep themselves open as he barely registered a force rolling him over onto his back. A blurry figure towered over him, their dark silhouette outlined by the orange Oasis skyline far, far above. The figure took a knee beside him, leaning in closer for a better look. A silver faceplate with slanted optics and a nine-point array greeted him then, and the cyborg finally faded fully from consciousness.

“Do not worry, friend. I will repair you in time.”


	2. Chapter 2

Zenyatta sat in silence, the bright blue of his forehead array dimmed slightly as he attempted to focus. In his lap lay Genji’s blade, balanced lengthwise across the monk’s knees and contained within its scabbard. Pharah has managed to recover it in her search for the cyborg, the poor thing torn from its owner during the chaos and ending up lost atop a lower-city rooftop. Zenyatta allowed his metallic fingers to trace up and down the surface of the scabbard as he contemplated the current circumstances, listening as his teammates stood crowded around the small screen of Winston’s portable mission terminal on the other side of the room.

“Is there any sign of him?” Orisa asked after a brief silence, standing in the back and peering over Winston’s shoulder as not to crowd Mercy beside her. Winston gave a dissatisfied sigh in return, his large fingers plucking away at the tiny keyboard as he re-routed his scanning procedures. 

“Still no SOS from his comm signal, unfortunately,” the ape mumbled. He adjusted his glasses and squinted at the satellite-generated overhead map of Oasis currently displayed on the screen. “Uh, not even a base reading, actually. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was damaged in all the...collisions.”

“Well, he has to be _somewhere,”_ Pharah chimed in from her spot leaning against the wall of their little safehouse. “Angela and I found where he landed based on the damage, and no sign of him.”

“He couldn’t have possibly just _walked away_ from that, even with his augmentations,” Mercy added. She leaned in close to study the satellite readings herself, brow furled with a tired frustration. “It doesn’t make sense. Something is wrong, I’m telling you.”

“Maybe he found help?” Winston asked, turning away from the terminal’s monitor to face the doctor properly. “If his comm really _is_ damaged, it would make sense that he hasn’t reported in yet.” 

“Or worse. Those Talon bastards snatched him up while we were busy chasing Akande and that bio sample,” Pharah muttered, arms folding over her muscular chest. “Damn opportunists already took Gabriel, from what we understand.”

Winston uncomfortably palmed the back of his neck. “Hey now, there’s no proof of that.”

“I feel as though we should still look for Mister Shimada,” Orisa mused after a moment, head almost-childishly tilted to the side as she tapped thoughtfully at her chin. “Mister Winston’s scans indicate that Talon is still very much active within the city. If we move now, we should be able to find him and re-acquire him, should he be with the payload Doomfist is guarding.”

“But what if he _isn’t?”_ Mercy rebutted. “If Genji really _is_ just stranded somewhere without a communicator, he is still within critical condition. It’s already been a day. If he does not get serious medical attention soon-“

“I shall go.”

The four turned to face Zenyatta then. The monk now stood straight, Genji’s sword held reverently before him in both open palms. He calmly moved to place it with the rest of his student’s belongings whilst his teammates continued to stare.

“Um, Zenyatta? What do you mean?” Winston tried after a moment. Zenyatta picked up his feet and allowed himself to hover freely once again, his orbs circling serenely in a wave around his shoulders. He turned to fully face his comrades.

“While it is critical that we not allow Ms. O’Deorain to access whatever is in that sample, it is of equal importance that Genji is returned to us alive and well,” the monk began. “Therefore, I propose we part ways for the time being. You all have previous experience with Doomfist and his form of strategy. While you all move to intercept him, I shall search for Genji in the streets. An Omnic such as myself should not draw too much attention in a town such as this. I shall keep my communicator active and contact you should I locate him.”

He watched patiently as Mercy and Winston exchanged a nervous look. The scientist eventually cleared his throat, awkwardly fiddling with his glasses for a moment before speaking.

“Well, that is very noble of you, Tekhartha Zenyatta, sir, and I do not mean to doubt your uh...capabilities. But Oasis is currently crawling with Talon patrols, and well…”

Mercy was the one to speak now: “We should also begin considering the possibility that, with how serious I believe his injuries to be, Genji could very possibly already be...you know.”

Zenyatta gave both of them an understanding nod. “I appreciate your concern for my safety, and I shall contact you should I feel that I need assistance. As for Genji, I have been meditating on The Iris continuously the past 24 hours, seeking its guidance. For whatever the reason, I feel with utmost confidence that he has not parted from this world. At least, not yet.” 

He paused then, recalling how Genji had jumped atop the roof of the transport vehicle in his pursuit of Akande the day prior, how the driver began to speed away before even Pharah could catch up to it. He remembered listening helplessly as Pharah radioed in about Genji falling, how she inevitably lost sight of him in the chaos as she and Mercy struggled to keep a bead on Talon amongst the high-speed traffic. Though he may not show it, the initial announcement had troubled him deeply. He had not actually seen the event itself, the transport already too far from where he, Orisa, and Winston had been left to monitor the chase from afar. A part of him wished that he had in fact witnessed it, as upsetting as the actual sight of his brightest student falling to his near-death would naturally be. At least then, he may have been close enough to be able to do something to intervene, something to help. 

But now was not a time for such doubts. 

Zenyatta gracefully floated over to the rest of the team, taking a moment to glance at the terminal’s current estimated positioning of Talon’s troops. For now, it appeared that the district in which Genji had been lost was not occupied. He returned his attention to the matter at hand.

“I will do my best to keep Genji alive until you can rendezvous with us, Dr. Ziegler,” the monk continued, nodding firmly in Mercy’s direction. “I fully understand his prognosis may not grant him as much time as we would hope.”

Mercy appeared to debate one last thing in her head, the doctor doing that tell-tale chewing at her bottom lip as she glanced at Winston one last time. When the scientist could only offer a confused shrug in return, she sighed, brushing away a few of her golden bangs back to their place behind her ear.

“I suppose we have no other choice. Promise to contact us if _anything_ goes wrong, alright Zenyatta?”

“Of course.”

“Then it sounds like we have a plan of attack.” Pharah stood straight and stepped away from the wall, punctuating her statement with a confident punch into her other palm. She looked to the monk and flashed him a smile. “Be careful out there, Zenyatta. Bring him home if we don’t first.”

“Well, actually, Ms. Amari, we still haven’t discussed just _how_ to approach Doomfist quite yet,” Winston spoke, his large body turning back to hunch over his tiny keyboard again. The scientist shakily cleared his throat. “Ahem. Now, according to these scans, Doomfist and the payload seem to be converging to meet Moira at Oasis Academy, southwest of this spot here…”

As the rest of the team began to talk strategy, Zenyatta turned towards the safehouse’s stockpile of supplies, perusing the various crates and bags for anything he may need. To look a tad less conspicuous, should Talon suddenly come by investigating, he grabbed a spare grey hoodie that was roughly his size and tossed it over his shoulder for later. As he moved to turn away, he accidentally bumped the hilt of Genji’s sword. It fell from where the monk had just placed it, no longer leaning against the single duffel bag that his student had prepped for the mission. Zenyatta tilted his head at the sight, unable to stop a heavy sigh escaping from his synth. He lowered himself down to gently prop the sword back into place, patting it fondly as he turned to leave. 

“Have patience, my student. I am coming for you.”

-

Bright lights were the first thing Genji saw when he awoke. His eyelids fluttered and promptly closed from the surge of white that besieged his senses, overwhelming him in his exhausted state. His body remained numb to the world around him, his limbs still dead-weight and heavy, dragging him down into what felt like a lifeless abyss. His head swirled. Everything was quiet. 

It was quite possible that he had lost consciousness again at some point, the world ticking by as if dampened around him. The next time he opened his eyes, the lights were still there. Nothing had moved. The lack of feeling in three of his four limbs remained, although now he realized his breath came easy again, no longer struggling with sharp, wincing pains like he had been in the alley. While phantom pains and the twinge of his probably-still-broken ribs continued to plague him, it appeared as though his condition was stable. For now, at least.

The place where he lay now had him flat on his back, and while the surface was hard, it was by no means as uncomfortable as the cold concrete from before. By now Genji had enough wherewithal to realize his visor had been removed, the world around him no longer obstructed by the large green crack across his vision. He mustered the strength to look around, turning his eyes away from the bright spotlight above and towards the strange place he now found himself in.

Aside from the spotlight, the room he now found himself in was bathed in a warm yellow-orange light. He soon put it together that a series of lamps filled with Edison bulbs were the likely source, illuminating the small space from where they hung from the ceiling. Along the wall he was currently facing, he could see various blueprints of what appeared to be different Omnic models and body types, pre-Crisis and post-Crisis alike, each pinned up and framed, almost all of them bearing notes and annotations scrawled in neat, orderly handwriting. Tall shelves carried the weight of various tools, ranging from heavy-duty wrenches to what appeared to be part of a full-on Tesla coil. Everything smelled of oil and machines.

Where _was_ he?

A static, sparking sort of noise registered in his ears then, somewhere off to his left. He turned his head to look, noting how stiff the muscles of his neck and shoulders still felt, and he was surprised to see an Omnic that he had failed to notice up until now. They sat facing away from him, their shoulders hunched as they leaned over a large workbench. The electrical tool sparked again in their mechanical hand, the Omnic methodically applying charge to some sort of circuitry with quick, practiced movements. 

It was then that Genji remembered his last moments of consciousness in the alleyway, the familiar faceplate that he was utterly convinced he had hallucinated until now. He couldn’t help but blink in confusion.

“Zenyatta…?”

“Hm?”

The Omnic swiveled their chair around to face the table where Genji lay, lifting up their welder’s mask to reveal none other than the face of his master. The familiar nine-point array and tranquil expression was...uncanny. The cyborg lay there in stunned silence, his mind still foggy from his time spent unconscious and on the brink of death. The Omnic leaned back in his seat, casually crossing one leg over the other as he pulled a handkerchief from a pocket in his blue mechanic’s jumpsuit to wipe his hands. 

“I see you’re awake,” he spoke in his master’s voice, calm and serene. “You have been offline for 29 total hours now. I expected longer, to be honest. You were in need of serious repairs.”

Genji stared dully at the stranger for a moment longer before he groaned, reaching his one functioning organic hand up to grasp at his forehead. “I must be dreaming…”

“This is no dream, my friend,” the Omnic replied. With deft motions, he slipped the welder’s mask off of his head and set it down on the workbench, replacing it with a flat cap that matched the hue of his jumpsuit. “Although I can understand your confusion. It must be alarming coming back online in a place you do not recognize.”

Genji sighed, dragging his hand down his face, hoping to wipe the remainder of his exhaustion away as he tried to process all this. He looked to the Omnic again, eyebrow quirked with mild suspicion.

“Who are you? Why did you save me?”

The Omnic turned back to the workbench, setting the electrical tool aside but continuing his work with a wire cutter instead. It was another moment or so before he began to speak again.

“My unit ID is Z3N-T0-Y4, although associates have taken to calling me ‘Zentoya’ as a play on spelling, so to speak. As for why I brought you here, I saw that you were in need of repairs. Logically, I figured my skills as a technician would be able to benefit you.”

Zentoya? The unit ID, at least, sounded somewhat familiar. Thinking back, Genji vaguely remembered his time with the Shambali, how the Omnics there would often derive nicknames based on their unit identification, both for convenience and for a sense of individual identity. Zenyatta had even shared his identification with him once: Z3N-YT-T4. 

Genji grumbled under his breath, letting his hand fall away to his side. “So you’re not- I’m sorry, it’s just...I think someone I know is the same model as you. I must have been confused.”

“An interesting coincidence,” Zentoya replied. Genji merely stared at Zentoya’s back as he continued his work. Although this Omnic’s voice was eerily similar to that of his master’s, there were subtle differences. While Genji has learned to read Zenyatta’s playful cadence quite fluently over the years of knowing him, he had absolutely no idea if Zentoya was being sarcastic or not. His synth came out considerably more monotone despite utilizing the same array of soundbites. 

An awkward silence filled the room then. After a bit of unsuccessful flailing, Genji realized that much of his body was still rendered immobile, and that he remained unable to sit up on his own. Zentoya was focused on the task at the workbench, so once again the cyborg found himself taking another look around. More blueprints dotted the walls of what could only be Zentoya’s workshop, although now he noticed a few more things put on display: boxed sets of various moth and butterfly specimens, pinned into place and perfectly preserved. The framed display sets hung amongst the blueprints, each of the specimens neatly ordered based on shape and size, labels indicating what region of Earth each set belonged to in the wild. There were enough specimens to take up an entire upper portion of one wall, looming above the various shelves and the workbench at which Zentoya currently toiled. Genji shrugged it off; everyone had their hobbies, he supposed.

Many minutes passed. The silence was beginning to make Genji uncomfortable. He was never good one-on-one with strangers, even in his younger charismatic years. Back then he had been more-or-less focused on getting into one’s pants rather than actual small talk. 

“So...you mentioned you’re a technician?” Genji tried, unsure of what else to talk about. “I see you have a lot of blueprints here. Do you primarily work on Omnics?”

“Primarily, clients have me servicing their cars. But I provide my repair services whenever I can, yes,” Zentoya replied, still hunched over his work. “The facets of Omnic technology are a particular interest of mine, if you could not tell already.”

“Don’t Omnics come pre-equipped with knowledge of their inner workings?”

“Are humans born with an advanced knowledge of their own anatomy?”

At that moment, Zentoya sounded so much like Zenyatta that it was almost startling. Genji awkwardly cleared his throat, hoping he hadn’t accidentally offended the Omnic with his question. 

“I suppose they don’t. And what of the butterflies?” 

“Imported.” The Omnic paused in his tinkering, lifting up what Genji now saw to be a circuitry chip to examine it closer to the light. “I quite admire their symmetry.”

Genji couldn’t help but smile a bit. “My master likes butterflies as well. During springtime in Nepal we would venture to a particular clearing, and every year there would be hundreds of Swallowtails migrating through.”

Zentoya responded with only a thoughtful hum, clearly preoccupied with double-checking the circuitry he had just wired. Once confident in his own handwork, he rolled his chair closer to where Genji lay on the table. Genji watched as Zentoya opened a slot on Genji’s right forearm - miraculously repaired, the cyborg now noticed, the crushed metal and split plating now expertly buffed and welded back into place - and slipped the chip inside. After a moment, Genji felt his entire right arm light up, synthetic nerve endings once again interfacing with and responding to his central nervous system. The cyborg lifted his robotic hand up close to his face to examine it, testing its responsiveness by quickly forming and releasing a fist a few times. It was like it was brand new.

“Amazing,” Genji breathed. Beside him, Zentoya merely returned to his workbench.

“There is still much work to be done,” he mused. “I have yet to repair the inner framework of your legs, not to mention other flaws.”

“You have done plenty already. Thank you for saving me. I owe you a great debt.” Genji was now able to prop himself up on his elbows, although his ribs still throbbed with a dull ache whenever he dared to flex his abdomen. “Do you have a phone? I could contact my teammates, and they should be able to handle the remainder of my repairs.” 

“I insist,” Zentoya casually replied, already having grabbed his welder’s mask again. “I’ve never had the opportunity to work on anything quite like you. I would appreciate the challenge, if you would indulge me.”

Genji hesitated. His teammates were most likely worried sick about him, and with Talon still being active in the city…

“I don’t know. I’m rather busy.”

The cyborg was surprised when Zentoya gently but firmly pushed down on his chest, his elbows slipping out from under him as he flopped flat on his back. He blinked up at the Omnic standing over him.

“At least allow me to repair your legs,” Zentoya persisted. “Such a lack of mobility would prove difficult, yes?”

He supposed Zentoya had a point. There would be little purpose in rejoining the chase for the payload if he was unable to even stand. The cyborg let out a sigh of defeat. He would have patience, for now.

“And contacting my teammates?”

“In due time.”

Zentoya flicked the welder’s mask back over his faceplate, grabbing a welding tool from one of his many shelves. He maneuvered his chair to sit next to Genji’s battered legs.

“This may sting a bit,” Zentoya said, fiddling with the end of the welding tool until a heated blue flame erupted from the chamber. “Do not worry. I will ensure that your repairs are perfect.” 

Genji flinched slightly as Zentoya brought the tool up to his prosthesis, the feeling no more uncomfortable than that of a standard flu shot in his current numbed-up state. Gradually, Genji allowed himself to relax and let Zentoya work in peace, tiredly staring up towards the plain ceiling as he waited for time to pass. His gaze would eventually drift to the row of specimens framed on the wall now and then, studying their patterns and looking to see if Zentoya possessed a familiar Swallowtail from Nepal.

He wondered how Zenyatta was fairing.


End file.
